Long Heavy Poems
Long Heavy Poems. Below are the most popular long Heavy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heavy poems by poem length and keyword.
In the warm spring air
as humid nights linger
Hands caress in silence
She revels in his tender stare
Barefoot they walk hand in hand
As nature's splendor surrounds
They drank heavily in their passion
consumed with love
But love's elixir ran too fast
Hot and heavy as the summer heat
Like a potion she thirst for more
Awaiting each day for his sensual touch
Passion fused always wanting more
Whatever he wanted she freely gave
She wanted more and he began to want less
They played willingly with fire
Riding high on desire
She was running hot
He became distant running cold
Chains of steel could not bind him
Her flames could not melt the ice
The cold autumn wind blew in
Took the fire from his soul
The summer love that once flowed like wine
Turned sour before the winters snow.
5/8/15
Copyright 2015 Phyllis Babcock
“since thoughts speak in past tenses,
drop mind, rely on senses,
embracing and releasing,
pain pangs and pleasure pleasing” ~ Unseeking Seeker
The sun
w a n e s into the saline swell,
and the ether
undresses corseted ruminations,
while heart follows formless flames
illuminated with flares of
frankincense forgiveness
as mind replays recurring regrets
like vinyls~
spinning forlorn runes
laced with fallacious fragments,
clouding the intricate cycle of lunar~
intuitions with illusive riddles,
drifting into the eventide of agony…
So I drink and I dine
from the hyacinth hands of
the golden chalices
brimming with turmeric tranquility,
listening ~ in sync ~
with the soul of sanguine stillness
ricocheting with rustling repose,
erasing cracked crevices
heavy with ache
from soft smears of monarch-bliss strokes,
spilling picturesque pigments of peace
from Mona Lisa musings
to veil visions of vanity,
to mask mirrors of melancholy,
to soften scarlet streaks of sorrow…
Tonight I close the portals
of perplexed perceptions,
unlocking the crown chakra
like forgotten forests
glowing with faith and fireflies,
allowing stars to glaze
my inner psyche
with dusts of glistening gratitude,
fine-tuning the symphony of Kundalini
to musical mists of mindfulness,
cloaked in
crystalline clovers of clarity~
like an awakened fairy
flipping leaves of lotus love,
pausing the pulse of pain
beneath an empyrean embellished
with spiritual elixirs,
detached from darkness,
clinging neither to
the seraphic scriptures
nor the egoistic galaxies,
sprinkling superficial sparkles
of material mantras.
As enlightened ink r e m a i n s
reliving ~ sewn into the
seams of sacredness
like endless rivers rippling with
opalescent quiescence…
O divine almighty,
I vow to sow herbs of harmony,
engrossed in the timeless phase
of rose-wine twilight~
untangling twisted tulips
intertwined with
weathered willows.
As I seek nothing but lucid light,
soaked in petrichor musings,
resting in zealous zenith,
for I am a rhymeless disciple
accepting the reality
that kissed the silk of silhouette
amidst rain and warmth~
the celestial peaks of change.
I taste flavors of kismet,
swallowing spices of lament,
comfortably composed
in the mystical essence
of soundless rhythm…
Banks did not burst,
just a dribbling bladder of river
leaked into our back yards.
It drooled over damp roots,
seeped into groundhog holes,
into ditches, where winter debris
had already washed-up.
The water rose in some places,
to at least half an inch,
we made phone calls to each other,
imaginations spilling over,
into memories of past inundations.
Some put on rubber boots,
and armed with brooms,
swept the ripples away.
Biblical deluges were discussed,
will the garden ornaments rust?
We watched sparrows bathing.
No geese or ducks landed.
Nothing sailed off over the fields.
A sulky cat was retrieved,
from a shallow puddle.
The mail was cataclysmically late.
*written in real time*
The clouds portended rain hours earlier
But I chose to venture out anyway
I failed to heed the forecast
The skies changed from a blue to a gray hue
The downpour is heavy and the clashes
Of thunder is incessant
Yet I'm in no hurry to reach my destination
So I'll wait out the torrential rain
I have neither an umbrella nor a raincoat
So I seek shelter to kill time; too cold to get wet!
Lest lightning forks it's tongue into me,
I'd rather watch the pelting rain toss rings...
Into water puddles in rapid succession
Creating ripples. It's a captivating sight!
I'll patiently wait here until
The rain subsides.
WEEK 1 MARCH 2019,any form-theme,upto max of 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 04/02/2016
11/7/22
Still there is bombing grounds
A whole lot of clowns
That talk down
I still help in saving lives some of which from a dog pound
Regardless if I ever make my mom proud
In the end it's all up to god now
Always being overlooked
Everything is what being sober took
The same said for taking a closer look
At times experienced it first hand and even wrote the book
Still f***ing up my kidney
They always they thought I was being just silly
But really
I couldn't help it and at this rate it will just kill me
It was once chilly
Couldn't just warm up from a cup of chili
At times caught up in a tizzy
Because it's tricky
Day and night in a corrupt city
I could care less whether or not you believe me
Decide for yourself if it all is that easy
From here to Waikiki
To Fiji
Beyond material like a Lamborghini
Zero pain in my left knee
I could not name a song by Kenny Chesney
Life will always test me
Why are they so quick to judge and detest me
Regardless if people go against me
I'll never let it effect me
They always want my help
When it's anything strong or heavy as well as up high on the shelf
Across the Earth
Put in endless work
Traveled continuous miles
Tribulations and trials
Difficult to smile
They've been vile
File upon file
Could be compiled
To go through it all it would take a long while
Is Nature adding to me
or taking away from me
Am I, or am I just
a small part, a tiny part
of all the beauty that I see.
All is so magnificent
The fresh air that I breathe
And I find myself thinking quite often
Will there ever be a day...any days
Much lovelier than these?
When I rose to greet this sunrise
Traveled through its heavy morning mist
I found myself thinking
Will there ever be a day...any days
Much lovelier than these?
I have explored both woods and valleys
I have sang the songs of the woodland birds
I have seen my mottled reflection
In the waterways of my small piece of earth.
I have followed the red of a woodpecker
until I could follow it no more
A farmer's fence blocked my passage
I had reached the edge of my tiny universe.
I have found myself in silence
Contemplating the greens of forest floors
And I remember asking myself in rhythm
Will there ever be a day...any days
Much lovelier than these?
After sixteen hours in the forest
The daylight starts to fade
The golden hour quickly approaches
The sun's bed will soon be made.
Lunar hours come sliding in
And with them my heart's desire
To have many more days like this one
To have many more days like these.
And if I don't ever see a day,
a day like this again
I know that my life has been so blessed
by the day that just has been.
This day will be remembered in my future years
This day that just has been
Whose fullness filled its minutes
Whose hours will never be forgotten.
Its been made fuller by its minutes
By its minutes that just have been
Whose hours won't ever be forgotten
If I would, it would be a sin.
And so as I go home to retire
To sleep and get my rest
I find myself thinking about the day
The day that just has been...
And then as I drift off to another place
I ask myself just one more time...
Will there ever be a day...any days
Much lovelier than these?
(January 22, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
The invasion has begun.
In the distance,I hear the rattle of heavy artillery.
Silage trailers,as they thunder along pock-marked country roads.
Young conscripts,barely legal,battling with the controls of a modern day,
monster tractor.
Happy as the day is long,
they tick tok around the clock,
Posting updates and images of the work in progress
to their army of followers.
They'll be starving by lunch time.
Putins' long white table would seat a platoon of men,
In for the dinner,
On a break from gathering potatoes, building a stack of hay or toiling at a dusty thrasher.
But my mother would barely have a table cloth long enough
for Putins' table.
To cover the blood stains, from the flesh
dripping slowly from the the meat grinder.
The last time I travelled by airplane,
I was twenty years old.
I was on a flight from Belfast to Liverpool.
I gained a perspective of more value than gold.
It felt so profound, so new,
A deep landing at the destination.
Though it's a long lived wise old thought,
It struck me like a revelation...
The plane was out in the bright blue sky.
The city ahead was under a cloud.
It amazed me how this bubbly white form
Could cover land with so dense a dark shroud.
Beneath the cloud felt like the look of doom,
Of gloomy, grey wet splashes.
Over the cloud, a bright blue sky,
And a serious need for sunglasses.
In that moment I thought about life,
About the times where we just want to cry -
How ever dark and dull circs feel,
The cloud would soon pass by.
When we feel weighted down with
Heavy hearts and hope seems out of sight -
A beam will shine, inspiration will come
And we will see the light.
Even the clouds can only bear so much,
Hence why we have rain -
So there's no shame in letting it out
Opening the valve to our pain.
Problems are temporary, with long effects,
But here is the "silver lining"...
If we find ourselves under a cloud,
Beyond it, the sun is shining!
Halloween eve shadows the day
and costume creatures begin to stray
Out with their bags for that candy lust
Houses decorated with holiday fuss
Scary spooky and jack o' lanterns everywhere
hoping for little children to scare
Kids and adult dress in Halloween fashion
with the scariest costumes the passion
Walking house to house, knocking door to door
gleefully shouting Trick or Treat for the candy to pour
Into their treasure bags the candy gold
so full they drag to heavy to hold
But one house the children know
its' reputation told and retold
Don't go there the candy is bad
the kind of candy turning joy to sad.
It is well lighted and decorated fun
but the candy they treat is ho hum
New comers go there and knock on the door
Shouting Trick or Treat for candies implore
An old fat man opens the door with a big bowl
of candy so bad they can't even be stole
Yep, little bags of old candy corn
circus peanuts, hard candies foreign
Neco Waffers and a stick of gum
He smiles as he offers you half wrapped Dum Dums
Slowly the kids back away
In shock by the bad candy he displays
Soon they turn around and run
screaming as he tosses them Dum Dums
Oh well he sighs as he closes the door
for next Halloween the old candy he stores
He locks the door and pulls down the shades
peeks out the window for any kid a stray
Off with the porch light and he settles down
Kids today his thoughts profound
Comfortable he sits and reaches for the other bowl
with Reese Cups, Kit Kats and Snicker bars it overflows
Can't let all this good candy go to waste
alone in his house he stuffs his fat face.
Sat alone and stark on a brown chair,
Not even knowing what to do with,
Simon and Garfunkel’s I Am A Rock,
Just an isolated island heavy as death.
I didn’t even want to be there cheering,
Adding to the multitude of the church,
But taught that our family had its own,
Morality, polity and principles, I sank.
Not my fault if I have read the Bible,
That literary glory sprawled in canopy;
Ignore me if I understand the gospels,
In a way that’s not at all evangelical.
Less of your begging oh Christian,
Chat about universities for a time;
The ice-age has been, rivers remain,
Shunning stains the life of the free.
Quietly, I feel they used my disability,
Discriminating since I could not walk,
Mingle at the end of the service politely,
Relinquishing my caring spirit known.
I needed met, befriended by someone,
Who’d actively remove or assimilate me,
With a carer from the state or school,
To prevent me from a mental illness.
Just sat by yourself, just as a sore thumb,
Tested afterwards to assert you’d coped,
Because after all, that would be god’s will,
For your essential child development.
5th November 2015